


I'm Only Honest When It Rains (If I Time It Right the Thunder Breaks)

by bella_my_clarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellarke, F/M, S4 AU, Self-Sacrifice, but i promise it's not all that, clarke believes in bellamy, yeah tbh it's mostly just sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9838118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_my_clarke/pseuds/bella_my_clarke
Summary: She meets his gaze, eyes full of heartbreak and pain and terror, and the urge to comfort her becomes so powerful he nearly falls forward. “Bellamy. I don’t think you understand—this mission has a ninety percent chance of failing, of killing you in twenty different ways, and just the thought—”“We’ll make it,” Bellamy murmurs, even though he’s not a fool. “We’ll come back.”“You don’t have to leave at all,” Clarke pleads, grasping at straws now. “Please, Bellamy, you’ll be safe—we’ll be together, with our people—you don’t have to do this.”--Or: there are only so many lifeboats, and Bellamy isn't going to be on oneFinalist in the Bellarke FF Awards for Most Underrated One-shot





	

**Author's Note:**

> I found this from /ages/ ago, back when we were all about an "only so many lifeboats situation," and even though I know it won't be canon now it gives me a strange amount of feelings about 4x03 *sobs* so I thought I'd share anyway. And besides, I frickin worked on this, guys.
> 
> AU where Clarke doesn't get a choice in writing down Bellamy's name can I get some sobs

“He’ll make it.”

The words sound hollow to Octavia, in the same way an _I’m sorry_ in the wake of tragedy sounds insincere—no matter how genuine they are, they simply can’t process the situation enough to say it with authority.

And surely Clarke can’t comprehend what’s happened, because Bellamy is _not_ going to make it.

Octavia enters her new room with a loud grunt, partially to keep everyone away but mostly to trick her mind into forgetting how empty the place is. It doesn’t, of course, and she finds herself thinking inexplicably of Lincoln, and how much he would’ve liked the earthy color of the tent walls, the dull saltwater smell, the soft blanket on the cot. The peace they found here. Then she pushes away the idea, because Lincoln is dead, and wishing he was here only reminds her of what she did after he died, and those memories hurt much, much worse.

She still remembers the day she finally came back to Arkadia, empty of anything but her sword and her regrets; can feel the imprint on her skin where Bellamy clutched her to him, the divots in her cheeks where tears flowed helplessly as she whimpered, _I’m so sorry, you can never forgive me, I shouldn’t have done any of it, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry._ He forgave her immediately, right there at the gates of Arkadia, and somehow she was almost angry about it because after she betrayed him, beat him, hated him, he shouldn’t still love her. He should’ve yelled at her, pushed her around, made her feel what he felt.

But he didn’t, and he won’t, because of course he wouldn’t. He’s _Bellamy._

And now he’s gone.

-

A month previous, Clarke stands at the top of the hill outside Arkadia. She watches the sun rise slowly over the distant horizon, the yellow and pink light beautifully lighting up the forests as they burn.

The storm has been getting closer and closer for weeks now, and finally they’re taking action. In a few days, they’ll flee to the sea, where Luna will take everyone to the safe zone in two trips—everyone, that is, except for those who will make the one last attempt to stop the storm and the reactors.

“Hey,” says a low, gentle voice from behind her. She doesn’t turn, only waits for Bellamy to stand by her as he always does. Their hands barely touch, knuckles against knuckles, and she thinks of intertwining their fingers.

“Hey yourself,” she says after a long drought of silence, not sure what else to say. Anything she actually wants to talk about frightens her too much to open her mouth—her feelings, her regret, the knowledge that some of their loved ones will get left behind to die.

So she just stands still, arm against Bellamy’s, her soul tucked into his, and she prays.

-

Bellamy walks into the quiet meeting room with a twisting nausea eating at his gut. He knows the plan is the best one they have, but that doesn’t make this any easier.

“Bellamy,” Kane says, looking up in surprise from some papers. He’s alone, as Bellamy intended. This was not a matter he wanted public yet. “What do you need?”

“I wanted to talk about the lists you gave in the meeting today.”

“For the evacuation?” Kane swallows. “If you were wondering why I put you in the second round, I merely assumed you and Clarke would want to be together, and give others a higher chance—”

Bellamy forces his voice not to shake. “That’s not what I mean. I want to be taken off.”

“Taken…off?”

“Take me off the evacuation list, Kane.”

Understanding dawns in the man’s eyes and he stands up straighter. “It doesn’t work like that, Bellamy. The people in the mission are already decided.”

“I’m the best chance for that mission and you know it,” Bellamy growls, taking a step forward. “You can’t put sentimentality into these decisions, Kane.”

A long pause. “What about Clarke?”

Bellamy freezes. “What?”

“Will Clarke get a say in this decision? Will you even tell her?”

“She—it doesn’t matter, Kane. Just take me off the list.” And before Kane can say anything else, before the image of broken blue eyes can rise up in his mind like a crashing wave, Bellamy turns away and walks out.

-

Clarke’s only half paying attention when they read off the lists to the public; she’s known them since they were first drafted. She’s so focused on other thoughts, in fact, she doesn’t notice when Bellamy’s name isn’t called after hers, or in the evacuation list at all.

She does notice, however, when he moves from her side to stand with the group destined to die.

“What are you—” she hisses, reaching to grab at his arm as he steps away, but it turns out she doesn’t need an answer. His refusal to look at her, the way he’s holding himself – the same way he straightened when she told him _it’s worth the risk_ – and the people he’s standing with, the people she’s already started mourning, is enough.

To her credit, she stays calm through the whole proceedings. They read off the names – she can’t help but flinch when she hears his – and explain the mission in all its complicated, unrealistic glory, then make everyone say their collected thanks and give them medals as if they’ve already died and need honoring, and through it all her hands barely even shake.

When individuals begin to speak to the mission members, however, she feels the hold over her emotions failing, and without ceremony she stomps over to Bellamy, grips his wrist, and drags him out of the room.

-

Bellamy knows the argument before Clarke even opens her mouth; he planned for this, prepared in his mind all the ways the conversation could go. No matter what she says, he’s staying.

“I’m not even going to pretend I don’t know what you just did in there,” Clarke says slowly, clearly clinging onto her temper. “I’m just going to tell you it’s not happening.”

He takes a small, oddly relieved breath; this he can handle. “It’s not your choice, Clarke, and it’s already made anyway. I’m giving you and our people the best shot at lasting life.”

“What, by throwing away your own life like it doesn’t matter?” she snaps, and it’s like each word shatters in the silence that follows. She doesn’t seem to know what to say—or what she can.

“You can’t—” Clarke swallows, her expression tightening like she’s holding back from something, and starts again. “After everything, you don’t get to just…leave. You don’t get to decide you deserve to stay on a suicide mission, especially not without me, especially when I know as well as you it’s because you don’t think you deserve any better. You don’t get to—”

Her voice breaks, and suddenly Bellamy realizes she’s _crying._ Clarke rarely cries in front of him, not like this – hand shaking, sobs breaking off her sentences, tears rolling down her cheeks – and he doesn’t know what to do. He thought he was prepared for this, but seeing her now, so broken and desperate....

“Clarke?” he breathes, nearly choking on the word.

She meets his gaze again, eyes full of heartbreak and pain and terror, and the urge to comfort her becomes so powerful he nearly falls forward. “Bellamy. I don’t think you understand—this mission has a ninety percent chance of failing, of killing you in twenty different ways, and just the _thought_ —”

“We’ll make it,” Bellamy murmurs, even though he’s not a fool. “We’ll come back.”

“You don’t have to leave at all,” Clarke pleads, grasping at straws now. “Please, Bellamy, you’ll be safe—we’ll be together, with our people—you don’t have to do this.”

Something in Bellamy softens, and he reaches for her hand. “I do, Clarke. I need to know I’ve done all I can for our people before I can rest. But….” He squeezes her fingers and she moves closer, eyes fluttering nearly to a close. “I’ll come back. I promise, I will.”

“Please,” she whispers, barely a sound, and it sounds a little like a promise, too.

-

The evacuation day comes, and Bellamy finds himself alone with his sister. They haven’t interacted much since she came back; he’s forgiven her, as he knew he would, but they’re still fragile. The scars her fists painted across his face haven’t left, and he doesn’t think they ever will, either.

Which makes being with her…hard. But that won’t keep him from trying. Especially since today might be the last chance he gets.

There’s little either of them want to discuss, so O just helps him pack. She folds each item religiously, using a gentleness he’s still not used to seeing – she was always the life, the flame, between them – and finds himself watching her more than the work at hand. She’s grown a lot since the days of piggybacks through jungles and wide-eyed excitement at makeshift dolls he made from fabric scraps. Now she bears scars from battles, against herself and the Mountain Men and even him, and she wears her sword like a symbol of regret instead of power, and she rarely raises her voice at anyone. She’s not really his little sister anymore, and he can’t help but ache at the fact.

After some length of time, Octavia drops the shirt she had been tucking into the bag like she just realized something and turns her head to him. “Bellamy.”

“Yes?” he asks, blinking in confusion.

“I know I haven’t talked to you about—” She swallows hard. “I don’t want you to think I’m okay with you staying here. That I’m—that I don’t care what happens.”

“I didn’t think that, O,” Bellamy murmurs, reaching for her instinctively.

She pulls away from his touch, then sighs heavily and covers her face with a hand. “I just—Bellamy, I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“I know you’ll try to stay alive. I know you want the mission to succeed. But…don’t just stay alive for our people, or even for me or Clarke. Stay alive for _you,_ Bellamy. Because you deserve to.”

Bellamy has no response to that, so he just stands still for a few moments before picking up the abandoned shirt and placing it in his sister’s bag. “I love you, O,” he says at last, feeling like he has to say _something_ —something he knows for sure.

“I love you, too, big brother,” she murmurs.

As far as goodbyes go between them, it’s one of the best.

-

He goes through farewells one at a time, starting with Monty. They hug briefly; Monty tells him to be safe, and Bellamy replies in kind. He considers asking Monty to watch out for their people, too, but decides against it. Monty has done enough of that.

Miller is noticeably tense when they part; he’d hoped to be staying, too, like Bryan, but got denied. “Take care of him for me, okay?” he asks. Then, before Bellamy can say anything, he adds, “I’ll watch out for Clarke, just…come home. Both of you.”

Abby and Kane are true to their parental sides, crying even as they scold him about being reckless. Jasper hugs him aggressively and he reciprocates – he’s getting better at these, far too late – and the younger boy wishes him good luck. “Don’t take too long,” he says, just barely avoiding Bellamy’s eyes. “It gets boring without you.”

“I won’t,” Bellamy tells him. “Stay out of trouble.”

Raven’s goodbye is full of words they both can’t say, so he just hugs her instead. “You’ve got this,” he murmurs.

“So do you,” she replies, then hits his chest lightly when he doesn’t respond. “Hey. Blake. You’re gonna be fine, okay? No exceptions.”

On and on Bellamy goes, with an odd lack of feeling considering what all of this means. Either he’s not processing what’s about to happen, or he’s already accepted it.

Then he sees Clarke, and it all crashes down.

-

Clarke is small, but Bellamy’s never really noticed it before—she always fills the room, a presence too large and bright to be ignored. Right now, though, she looks _tiny._ Fragile. Hollowed out, drawn up with puppet strings knotted too tightly across her wrists. Not like the girl he fell in love with.

As Bellamy moves towards her, chest aching, their gazes lock and he’s struck once again by her _eyes._ They’re astonishingly blue, the color of ocean storms and noonday skies, of a painter’s life work, of life. Her eyes are one of the things he fears most he’ll forget, should he be gone too long or too far. Her smile is another—rare and bright, a whisper of sunshine tucked into the spaces between his ribs.

He wishes she would smile now.

“Hey, Clarke,” he says once he reaches her. There’s a lump in his throat he’s struggling to speak around. “How—”

“You have to come back,” she interrupts, her words tumbling over her mouth the way a river surges over rocks—desperate and hurried, nearly too fast to catch. The way she’s looking at him is tortured, almost, like she couldn’t look away if she wanted to.

Bellamy’s chest coils up, about to spring or snap. “I will. Clarke, I—”

“It’s time, Clarke,” a voice calls out from their left.

After a long moment, Bellamy nods, never looking away from Clarke. “It’s time.”

She glances over his face urgently – he swears he can hear her heart, pounding in rhythm with his own – and then throws her arms around him. For once, Bellamy’s ready for it and meets her halfway, burying her within his embrace and fitting his face in the junction between her shoulder and neck. Tears that had been left unshed for weeks spill out; he lets them, because this is _Clarke._ If he holds back now, no matter what happens later, he will regret it more than anything else.

He holds onto her for ages, trying to press the memory of her firmly enough into his body he won’t feel the loss so much. Eventually, though, he knows they’re taking much too long; they have to go now or Bellamy’s sacrifice will be worth nothing. He pulls away slowly, like there’s lead in his movements; hesitation in every ounce of distance between them. Tears carve rivers into Clarke’s cheeks, and the sight breaks something in Bellamy. He cradles her cheeks in his hands, stroking away the tears with his thumbs as her eyes trace over his face.

There’s so much to say, and yet he can’t say it—there’s not enough time, not enough words, and he could never describe how he feels now, how he will always feel for her—but he has to say _something,_ has to leave Clarke with some sort of understanding—

Bellamy swallows hard, curls his hands more firmly around the soft edges of Clarke’s face, and presses his lips to hers.

It’s a quiet kiss, not the kind he expected for their first. This kiss feels like the kind they’d have after years of practice; countless moments to call their own, so many the sensation is as natural and easy as their own heartbeats. Clarke holds his wrists and he holds her cheeks; they hold each other, maybe one last time, and even though it tears Bellamy apart, this foreboding of the end, he feels his heart swell so large it can’t possibly fit in his chest because _Clarke is kissing him back._ She feels the same. She actually—

Clarke breaks away, though she’s still gripping his wrists like they’re anchors, and sucks in a heavy breath. Bellamy leans his forehead against hers and a familiar feeling returns—a wanting, to hold Clarke for the rest of his life, to curl her body into his and protect her, to kiss her forehead and her knuckles and her nose, to be _hers._ He feels it so strongly he nearly chokes on it.

Everyone he loves has to leave, in the end.

After sparing himself a few more moments, he finally draws away completely, meeting Clarke’s eyes for perhaps the last time. “See you soon,” he says.

“See you soon,” she echoes, but by then he’s already gone.

-

Luna’s boats are small and weather-beaten and smell like something lost, but they’re the only hope left for Clarke and her people ( _except for Bellamy, except for Bellamy_ ), so they pile on, one by one. They’re crammed far past capacity, but not to the point of sinking, so Luna gives the command and they sail away.

Clarke’s heart doesn’t come with them.

They sail for several days with small rations, most of which end up over the side as the passengers get used to the ship’s toss and turn. “How far?” a woman asks, clutching her baby under her jacket to protect him from the sea spray.

“Not far,” one of Luna’s people says. “It took the others only four days to reach the resting stop.”

“And after that?”

“Weeks, to get across the sea. If we make it there alive, we will be safe long past the rest of the world’s end.”

“Until we can come back, you mean,” Clarke adds before she can help it. “We’ll stay there until we get word from Bellamy and the others that it’s safe to go back.”

Everyone around her swallows hard; if possible, the air becomes more tense. “If we get word, yes,” the Floukru member says. “We’ll go back.”

“He will. He’ll come back from the reactors and contact us. We’ll go home soon.”

“Yes, of course,” they agree gently, and for her own sake Clarke pretends they’re genuine.

_Bellamy,_ she whispers inwardly, squeezing her eyes shut and willing his face to mind. _Please, Bellamy._

-

Octavia’s the one who falls first. She’s grown a lot since she came back, but there’s still too much fire in her to leave much hope, even for her brother.

“He’ll complete the mission,” Clarke insists when Octavia brushes aside talk of the return trip. “There’s still plenty of time for him to contact us.”

“Yeah, the rest of our lives,” Octavia mutters, then looks at Clarke hard. “Look. I get it. You want him to come back. I do, too—geez, I want him to call so bad sometimes I think I’ll explode if I think about it too much. But that’s the point. We all knew that mission was a thousand to one chance, even with my brother at the lead. You can’t wait around for him, Clarke.”

A little stunned at a maturity not often seen in the younger Blake, it takes Clarke a moment before she stands straighter and insists, “He’ll make it.”

Octavia never replies, really, just walks out, but it’s enough. Barely a week and she’s already given up.

(It only fuels Clarke further.)

Next is Jasper, which is somehow more heartbreaking. Octavia she expected to give up, being so weather-worn and broken, but Jasper? Who had finally gained back the trust of Bellamy that kept him moving in Mount Weather; that deep, childish belief the older boy could do anything, save everyone?

Needless to say, when Jasper runs into Clarke’s room sobbing about how there’s no way Bellamy could’ve survived it, her heart nearly snaps in two.

Her mom and Kane lose hope bit by bit, maybe more because they’re too concerned with the prospects of living on this strange new land to dedicate any time to believing in Bellamy’s team. Then Monty tells her he wants to believe, but he can’t find a scenario that would’ve worked in this time span, and a week later Miller suddenly holes up in his room, only seen to eat once or twice a day. When she finally manages to talk to him, he can’t even get the words out because he’s crying too much, but she understands. He’s tried so hard to keep hoping, not just for Bellamy but for Bryan, but it’s been three weeks longer than what was supposed to be the max deadline and a heart can only bear so much.

She wonders how hers is able to take it.

-

Bellamy blinks hard and struggles to his feet. They’re so close to the finish, but if he can’t make it to the last point, it will all be for nothing. He’ll die, and his friends will, too, once the food across the sea runs out. Clarke, and Raven, and Miller, and everyone else he loves.

It’s hard—incredibly hard, to keep going, and not just because of the growing radiation or the absence of food or the rapidly falling chances of success. That, Bellamy can handle. But there’s a hook dug into his back that’s much worse than the horrors around him; a familiar, nagging pull in his spine that’s dragging him through the ground, bringing to mind the taste of bitter nuts and blinding lights and his own choked words: I deserve it. Please. I can’t fight anymore. If there was ever a time that he could just lay down, take his due, finally pay the price for everything he’s done, it would be now. No one would even know.

Except that’s a lie and he knows it. Someone would know—the same someone he promised to stay safe, the someone whose mouth he almost feels still pressed against his, fingers clinging to his wrists as if it could hold them together. And no matter how much he wants to lie in the dirt and never get up, he wants to see her again more. He can’t give up when she’s waiting for him. He _can’t._

“Only a few more hundred yards,” yells Bryan over the rising wind. His voice is strained and clipped, his own energy failing. “Come on, let’s do this! We’re so close!”

_So close,_ Bellamy thinks, forcing himself to take another step. His weight is beginning to be almost too much for his body, even after abandoning his pack and gun, now useless, a while back. (Radiation ate everything, including bullets.)

Soon, he feels his eyes drifting shut of their own accord, his legs sliding beneath him like lead weights. He resists, stumbles on, but slowly he feels himself drifting too far, and he crumples to the ground amidst Bryan calling his name.

_Clarke,_ he thinks, and the world goes black.

-

Raven is the only one left who still thinks Bellamy could be alive, and Clarke finds herself spending more time with her because of it—if nothing else, she appreciates having a few moments without a pitied gaze at her back. They explore the new area once they’re allowed, testing fruits and hypothesizing what they could take back to Arkadia. Slowly, Raven puts a map together and jokingly calls the place The Ash Heap; surprisingly, it sticks.

It’s enjoyable, and distracting, but Clarke can’t help but notice how…permanent it all feels. She has a _tent,_ with the few possessions she refused to leave behind, and Bellamy doesn’t. Her mom’s already set up shop nicely, too, dragging Clarke to meetings about sustainability and how to approach the few who had already crossed the sea when they got here, maybe try for a treaty or alliance of some sort.

She spends most of the time in her room, after the first few weeks roll by, because there’s nothing important she can help with, especially with Luna and all her healers present, and it makes her feel a little more like she’s back home in Arkadia. Also, she and Raven can talk without worrying about nosy passerby, as her mother graciously put her in the corner of their makeshift camp.

That’s what they’re doing now—talking, about everything but what they really want to talk about because avoiding their fears has become a habit, somehow. Raven’s working on yet another new brace for her leg, one that will supposedly let her run now. Clarke’s doubtful, not because she doubts Raven but because they have no supplies anymore, but she lets Raven ramble about the mechanics of it anyway.

Then Raven goes quiet, which is highly unusual. “What is it?” Clarke asks.

Raven looks up sharply from her hands like she’s been caught. “What? Oh, nothing. I’m all good.”

“You don’t seem like it,” Clarke presses gently. “If something’s bothering you, I want to know.”

Sighing, Raven says, “I doubt that.” Then, seeing Clarke’s miffed expression, adds, “Not that you don’t care, I’m not saying that. But I know for sure you don’t want to hear what I’m thinking.”

Clarke swallows hard. She already knows, to be honest. “Have you heard something? About Bellamy?”

“No. But that’s the problem, I think. We should’ve heard _something._ ”

_Here we go._ “Raven, you know as well as I do how unstable that timeframe we put was. They could easily still be doing the job, or have already done it and need to heal up before they contact us.”

“Or they failed and everyone’s either dead or about to be,” Raven spits bitterly, turning away.

“ _Raven._ Don’t say things like that,” Clarke snaps, anger coming out instead of the immediate pulse of fear pricking at her heart. The image of Bellamy, burned like Atom, bleeding and dead-eyed and begging for her to end it, rises in her mind. She shoves it aside ferociously. “Just because the numbers are against them doesn’t mean they don’t still have a chance—”

“Clarke, there’s _no_ chance, and you know how I know that?” Raven stands and faces Clarke, a fire in her eyes. Except it’s the kind of fire that looks about to burn out. “Because I’m here, in this cushy new camp, instead of back home.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. There were plenty of capable people who didn’t go on the mission.”

“I’m not ‘capable people,’ Clarke, I’m the smartest person we’ve got,” Raven reminds her. “I’ve thought a lot about it, all right? And if they had thought this mission had a chance, any chance at all, they would’ve sent me. They did with Mount Weather, right? Those chances were abysmal and they still risked me.”

Pressure builds uncomfortably in Clarke’s chest, making it hard to breathe. It makes sense. It makes _sense._ “You don’t—I can’t—he has to—” she says, choking on the words.

The fire in Raven’s eyes fizzles out as she looks at Clarke, replaced with tears. “It’s been three months, Clarke. Bellamy wouldn’t want us to wait forever.”

Clarke says nothing for a long time; so long, in fact, Raven gives up and walks out, leaving Clarke to sink to the floor and tuck her face in her knees, trying to breathe again. Bellamy only had two people who still believed in him, and now there is only one.

-

Bellamy breathes in, breathes out. The world is dark, but apparently he hasn’t left it yet. He reminds himself this is a good thing and tries to move, but his limbs are like lead and his head is stuffed with cotton.

He fades in and out. Someone calls his name. He thinks he sees Clarke’s face, but his eyes are closed. When he opens them, he sees stars. A face.

He fades again.

-

“Clarke, I don’t know how you can still be opposed to this,” Octavia says, pulling her aside after yet another unproductive meeting. “Of everyone, I expected you to want what’s best for your people.”

“Our people,” Clarke says tiredly, “and it’s not what’s best for them. The quicker we build firm roots here, the harder it will be to rip them out when we need to go home.”

The Blake girl sighs heavily and covers her face with a hand. “The longer you hold onto hope that they made it, the harder it will be to let go and face the world ahead of us. Which you have to do, Clarke.”

“I absolutely do not,” Clarke argues, even though she knows where Octavia is coming from.

“Yes you do. He’s not going to call, Clarke. I don’t care how much you want it, he’s not.”

“I don’t care how much you’ve given up on him, he _will._ ”

“What do you expect to happen until then? Let your people starve?”

“They’ll starve in a couple years anyway; this place wasn’t meant for so many people for such an extended amount of time. Bellamy is our last chance, don’t you see that?”

Octavia purses her lips for a moment, thinking. When she speaks, her voice is small. “Would that be so bad? To see an end to it all? To die of our own accord, in peace?”

It takes Clarke a full five seconds to respond, she’s so shocked. “ _Yes._ Of course it would be. Are you telling me you’d rather sit around for a few years and die than live?”

The lack of words is Octavia’s response.

“Well, that’s your choice, but I personally would like to live past the ripe old age of twenty,” Clarke said, fighting to keep her voice even, “so I’ll be—”

She’s interrupted by a call – more of a scream really – from across the camp. “Clarke! Octavia! _Get over here!_ ”

_Raven._

-

When they get to the control center (which is really just a slightly larger tent), Octavia opens the flap for Clarke and lets her in first. She still can’t quite meet Raven’s eyes these days; just another person she’ll never be able to stop apologizing to for the monster she had let take control.

“What is it?” Clarke asks Raven, with that unusual lilt to her voice that suggests both hope and resignation. Only Clarke can believe something will work while also believing it’s impossible. “What do you need?”

Raven glances over at Octavia and actually _smiles_ a little. Without meaning to, Octavia flinches at the unexpected gesture; Raven notices this and turns her eyes to Clarke instead. “The radio. I got a connection.”

“A connection?” Clarke asks, voice full of wonder. Octavia only stares, noticing for the first time the large machine dominating the tent. It’s the same one Clarke’s practically lived over for the past three months. “Raven, are you saying—”

“I got a contact,” Raven confirms, grinning madly. “Clarke, they _contacted_ me. Bryan, Bellamy, all of them. They did it. They’re alive.”

Octavia feels like she might sink to the floor; Clarke does. “We…we can go home?” Octavia asks, barely daring to even believe it.

Raven nods rapidly. She hasn’t seen the mechanic this happy in ages, since before Mount Weather. Or maybe she’d never been this happy; her life always seemed to be tinged with so much sadness. Now, though, Raven looks like nothing bad could ever happen again, like the sun has come out and night’s not going to come. “Yes. They confirmed it’s all safe for us now. We can really do it.”

Clarke presses a hand to her mouth like she’s going to sob if she doesn’t. Her eyes are glittering. “How—how is everyone? Bellamy and the others? Are they doing okay? Do they need medical attention?”

Smiling, Raven hands her a receiver she’d been holding in her hand. “Why don’t you ask?”

After a long moment of hesitation – more out of shock than unsureness, Octavia knows – Clarke grabs the receiver with both hands and whispers into it with a shaky voice. “Hello? Who’s there?”

“Clarke? Oh, geez, it’s good to hear your voice.” _Bryan._ Miller will be thrilled. “How’s everything over there?”

“We’re fine. We’re all fine. Ready to go home.” Clarke pauses, now definitely sounding unsure. “But how are you guys? Is—is Bellamy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Bryan says. “A little worse for wear compared to the rest of us, because you know how he is, but he’ll recover. I’d let you talk to him, but he’s sleeping right now. Unless you’d like me to wake him up….”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Clarke says. She sounds like she’s choking; on which emotion, Octavia can’t decipher. “Let him sleep. I’ll talk to him soon anyway, right?”

“Right,” agrees Bryan, full of pride. “Miller’s doing okay, too, right? Raven said he was, but I want two sources, just to be sure.”

“He’s fine; out on a little scouting mission right now, but he’ll be back very soon. I’ll send him right to you, okay? He’ll be ecstatic to hear your voice.”

“Same here,” he says, and Clarke nods gently even though he can’t hear her through the phone. Octavia understands what they mean—they’ve both been waiting a long time to hear from someone they love.

If she’s being honest (which she hasn’t for months and months, really), she has been, too.

-

Weeks later, they’re home.

Octavia didn’t think it would happen, but here they are, back on the same shores they started at, and everyone’s scrambling to get onto solid ground. She comes off slowly, trying to savor the experience for once, but there’s not the incredible moment of awe for her like everyone else; no brightening of colors, or realization of how good she had it, or desire to bask in it forever. It’s the same as when she left, if maybe a little emptier.

Maybe that’s okay, though. Octavia’s had her fill of fantasizing things; it’s time to look at the world as it is and stop expecting it to love her back.

Through the flood of people, she manages to find Clarke – it isn’t hard, really, the girl is like a spark in a pile of coals – and goes to her, seeking a familiar face. She’s straining to see above the crowds, and Octavia knows why. Beyond the hordes of people and possessions is Bellamy; the team promised they would wait by the sea to greet everyone as they arrived.

The thought of seeing her brother again is nearly setting Octavia on fire, in every way possible, so she can’t even imagine how the girl beside her feels. She remembers how Bellamy had kissed Clarke before he left, and more than that she remembers the way Clarke had slowly sunk to the ground after he was gone, her fingers on her lips. “What do I do without him?” she’d whispered, when Octavia finally had to pull her along into the boats.

“You do what he’d want you to—keep going,” Octavia had replied, and despite everything, Clarke had done it.

Now Clarke is searching frantically, eyes scanning the mixing groups—and then. Her eyes widen and her lips part fractionally; Octavia swears she can hear the girl’s heartbeat, or maybe it’s her own. Following Clarke’s eyes, Octavia sees him, battered and bruised and a little bloody, but in one piece, and _smiling._ Her heart breaks a little with joy.

The next thing that happens is almost like magic—the crowd parts as Bellamy moves forward, clearing a path between him and Clarke like a river rushing past a boulder. The two walk towards each other slowly, drawn forwards by a tether while also held back with disbelief. When they finally meet, Octavia expects them to collide, like they always do, but something’s different between them now. An understanding, maybe. They just…look at each other, frozen in complete awe and adoration, and then Clarke touches his face gently, brushing her fingertips over his cheekbones before cradling his face.

“Hey, Bellamy,” Clarke whispers, so soft Octavia can barely hear her even though she’s only a few feet away. Bellamy hears her, though; of course he does. Even when Clarke doesn’t speak, Bellamy hears her.

“Hey, Clarke,” he says back, smiling against her hand.

As they stand there, unspeaking, coming so close together their foreheads are touching, it seems to Octavia as if they never left each other—and maybe, she realizes, they didn’t. Not really. Because yes, Bellamy would go to the end of the world for the people he loves, but he’d also come _back._

He’ll always come back.

**Author's Note:**

> @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr come say hi friends
> 
> Guys I live off of comments tbh so if you liked it tell me maybe? Love you <3


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